Reunited Warriors
by thisismycreativeusername
Summary: Old friends, new enemies. Emma Swan and Killian Jones had once been as close as a princess and a sailor's son could be. Now they must fight each other - and fight to kill. But can they put aside what they used to be in order to do so and finally end a war that has gone on for much too long?
1. A Distant Memory

**A/N: I'm going to attempt a multi-chapter story, and I hope you guys will like it. If you do want to read on, please review and tell me!**

* * *

She was cold. But she could not feel the wind that swept through her long hair and flew through her armour. She could not feel the ground beneath her feet as she stood firmly on the muddy grass, careful not to slip. She could not hear the screams that came from ahead, behind and either sides. She could not taste the blood as a dripped down her face from a wound on her head. She could not smell the blood of others, as it mixed into the water that ran along tiny trenches made from hundreds of stampeding boots. She could not see the people she knew being cut down on each side, their lives being quickly and brutally ended.

All she could see was him.

He was on the opposite side of the field, sword swinging from side to side – slicing and chopping whatever it could reach. He also wore armour; thicker than hers, heavier, stronger. He too had received scars from the short battle that had already gone on too long. His head was slashed, as was his arm. It made no difference, however. He fought as ferociously as the rest, perhaps more so. But there was another difference between him and his fellow fighters, a more obvious one. Whilst with his right hand he held a sword, his left hand was no longer completing his arm. In its place was a hook – shining in the slight rays of sun that had pierced the clouds as he swung it independently of his remaining arm.

It had been many years since she had last seen him, but of his identity she was sure. He had changed, of course. When she had last said goodbye to him he had been much younger, as had she. He had a smaller stature, skin clean of scars and all of his appendages. And his eyes had been brighter; full of hope, excitement, and the want to see the world and the wonders and secrets it held. He appeared to have found the secrets, but not thought them so wonderful. His skin was marked now, scars and drawing were scattered along it. He was tall, but not extremely so – still being dwarfed by many of the men around him. He had the scythe at the end of his arm. And his eyes…oh, his eyes. They were dark. It was as if he had held the world in his arms and had it snatched away. Brilliant blue eyes that had once been filled with joy were now empty and emotionless. As was he, it seemed.

He slashed and slaughtered, men dropping down as soon as he reached them and none managing to get close enough to strike back. He did not seem to notice anything around him either, not the men screeching in pain as they fell, or the ones coming towards his with vengeance in their eyes before they too were cut down. He simply marched forwards, coming closer to her with each strike and each step.

She had not moved, simply stood on her spot in the centre of the battlefield as chaos continued to erupt around her. Some had tried to slice or scratch her, but had been thrown back by the force of her shield. She held no weapon but power surrounded her - an aura that flowed through the air and the ground. As she began to realise where she was standing, she looked around and saw bodies piled up and more standing on top of them as they continued to fight. Swords, daggers and arrows were swinging and flying past her as she calmly raised her arm and pointed towards one of the enemies. Within seconds, he crumpled and she moved onto the next one and the pattern was repeated.

* * *

It was impossible to know how long it had been since the horn had blown to single the start of the battle; impossible to estimate the amount of graves that would have to be dug and the amount of families that would be left without one of its members. The few slithers of sunlight that had squeezed through the brewing storm clouds had long since been crushed and darkness reigned. She had been in a trance for who knows how long, repeating the same pattern over and over. Removing the enemy from fights with her men, from the battle altogether. He had done the same, moving closer ad closer as he took down men with swift strokes and jabs. They were but feet apart; all that was separating them was the piles of men that lay in the mud. As the horn blew again, signalling the end of the battle, they looked up. And found themselves staring into each other's eyes, hers filled with recognition and his with confusion.

They stood there, his sword and hook and her hands by their sides and their eyes new leaving the other's. Her mouth began to open, when she heard shouting from behind her. Looking around, she saw the man that had reached safety calling to her and signalling for her to follow them. Others were running towards them, and she saw the enemy doing the same thing and she turned back around to him again. But he had gone, and as she saw him sprinting past his allies with his sword now sheathed in his belt she lifted her hand once more and twisted it abruptly, disappearing in a cloud of white smoke. She did not see him twist as he continued to run, his dark eyes still full of bewilderment and apprehension.


	2. Arranged

**A/N: So I've planned the next few chapters, and what I'm hoping will happen throughout the duration of this story is that every other chapter will be in the present, and the ones in between will be flashbacks. And that will continue until they meet in the middle. I'm hoping it will work...? This one's all Neal/Baelfire and Emma, but the story will eventually be Captain Swan, I promise. Anyway, thanks for reading, please review!**

* * *

**_20 years earlier_**

"Can't catch me!"

Emma sprinted around the corner, skidding on the shiny marble floor before speeding up again and running the length of the ballroom. Behind her, the prince jogged around the corner, laughing and pausing for a moment for taking off again. She had run up to him several minutes before, deciding that he was to be a part of her game. He had hesitated, looking around for his father, but had quickly made the choice to follow her. He may have been Prince Neal, heir to the throne, but he was still technically a child.

"You're too fast!" he shouted, laughing as he turned yet another corner in the massive castle before seeing her stop abruptly, long blonde hair swinging forwards. She turned around and raised a hand, telling him to stop. He did, and she looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Do you give up?"

Neal sighed, his head dropping to his chest. He was getting a bit bored of this game, but was he truly willing to admit defeat to a little girl? He lifted his head once more, looked into her eyes and answered, "Yes. Yes, I give up."

"Ha! Told you I was faster!" Emma jumped in the air, almost tripping as she landed on the hem of the dress she was wearing. Regaining her balance, she looked curiously at the older prince.

"Why are you so boring?"

Neal was affronted. He wasn't boring!

"I'm not boring!"

"Yes you are! You're trying to be an adult, when you're not one! You're only three years old than me!"

Neal considered her argument. It was a rather well put together one, considering she was only seven years old.

"True…however I am also a Prince, and soon I will be a man and a King. That means I have to be more responsible than you."

"So? I'm going to be a Queen."

"Yeah, but the Kings are the ones that actually run the kingdoms, not the Queens."

Emma's face contorted into an expression of annoyance.

"Well, when I'm Queen I'm going to choose what I do, not the King."

Neal shook his head. It was a nice idea, but she really did not understand the politics of monarchy. Even though he was only three years older, as a future King his father had ordered him to be taught about what was expected from him, as well as the expectations of all members of a royal family. She may think that it will all play out exactly as she plans, but the reality was that she probably would end up married to some man that she barely knew, if at all. Poor kid.

"I bet you will."

Emma nodded, then span on her heel and marched along the wooden floor in the direction of the castle gardens. Neal watched her go, then turned the other way and walked back into the grand hall. The marble floor was shining; the ceiling that had been crafted and painted painstakingly by the best in the kingdom reflected in it. He stepped into the centre of the hall and sat down, closing his eyes and tilting his head backwards. After sitting there for just a few minutes, his eyes flickered open again as he heard voices coming from the main doors into the hall, which were still slightly open from his and Emma's game of tag.

"It is a shame that we must force them together like this."

That was Emma's father, wasn't it? They were right outside the door, so Neal leapt up off the floor and quietly raced to the wall, crawling quickly under one of the tables that lined it. The long white tablecloth fell back as he let go of it, covering both his view of them and their view of him.

"I do not think so. I am sure you would rather your daughter be with someone she knew rather than someone she had met just once before the wedding?"

That was his father. And were they talking about marrying off Emma? They were inside the hall now, walking towards the centre from what he could tell.

"True. But when should we tell them?"

Neal wondered whom they were talking about. Who was Emma to be married to – there could not be that many options, if it were someone she knew well. As far as he knew, the only male that was even close to her in age was –

"Neal will figure it out for himself soon enough, I believe. As for Emma, I think we should wait until she is of an age where she will understand and accept it. Unlike Neal, she does not seem to realise the place in which she must take for the sake of her kingdom."

Neal blinked. His father wanted him to marry Emma? Now he thought about it, it seemed obvious. Emma was pretty much the only young princess he was permitted to meet, and he knew for definite that his father was always thinking about how any action would influence his surroundings, and how it would benefit him. A join between Neal and Emma's two kingdoms would be massively beneficial for his father, and for Emma's.

"Well, we need to discuss this further, but for now I think that is all." Emma's father said, ending the conversation and stepping out of the room. Neal sat against the wall, processing what he had just heard. Then, without warning, the tablecloth was wrenched back and he found himself looking into the face of his father.

"Hello, Father." He mumbled.

The King took hold of Neal with the hand that was not holding the cloth up, and firmly pulled him out from under the table. When his son was standing in front of him, he looked down and said, "Do you really still believe you can hide from me, Baelfire?"

Neal looked up from the ground at the sound of his mother's old nickname for him. His father was looking down at him sternly, unblinking. He looked at his shoes once more.

"Of course not, Father."

"Then would you try to do so?"

"I didn't, I just panicked when I heard you and Emma's father coming into the hall and did the first thing that came into my brain."

"Which was to…hide under a table?"

Neal looked up again and saw his father's eyebrows had risen, and relaxed slightly, knowing he was no longer being scolded. He shrugged slightly.

"Maybe?"

His father turned away with a slight smile on his face, and walked partway down the ballroom. Neal stayed in the same spot, his mouth open. He wanted to ask about what he had just heard, but wasn't sure if he should.

"Just ask your questions, Baelfire."

He should have known his father would have immediately realised he had a question. He always knew about things like that – it usually unnerved people when they first met him. Neal took a deep breath before speaking.

"You want me and Emma to marry?"

His father turned back around to face him, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Yes."

"For the good of the two kingdoms?"

"Yes."

"And you don't want me to tell her?"

"No. At least not for a few years."

The King suddenly strode back to stand in front of Neal, and took him by the shoulders.

"Listen to me, Baelfire. You must understand that you cannot always do what you would like to do when you are in a position of power. You must do what is right for your kingdom. Emma must also learn this, but I can tell it will take longer for her to accept it. Do you understand?"

Neal nodded, and his father patted him slightly on the shoulders before removing his hands. He then nodded his goodbye and left the room with his shoulders back and head held high, as a royal's should be. The prince's head, however, drooped as he lifted himself onto the table he had just hidden under. He had known that he would have an arranged marriage from a young age, but really had not expected his future wife to be the little girl he had known for several years. At least it was someone he knew, he supposed.

However, he knew Emma would not take this point of view, as did his father. She was already a fiercely independent young girl, a characteristic that would probably just grow stronger as she grew taller. She would not take kindly to not being allowed to choose her own partner - her own fate.

But maybe she wouldn't have to. If she chose Neal before their parents chose to tell her of the arrangement, then she would never have to know of the agreement between the two Kings or be traded like goods in a business deal.

If Emma fell in love with him before he turned 21 and was made to marry, then neither of them would be forced into a terrible or loveless marriage. Of course, there was the minor detail that he would have to fall in love with her too for that happy ending to be possible, but he was sure it would all fall into place along the way. They had eleven years, after all.


	3. Enemies

**A/N: Sorry if everything seems completely confusing at the moment. It will all be explained in due course, I promise!**

* * *

Emma walked through the camp they had made for themselves. It had been their home for a while now, and she could see the little details that had been left around by those who lived there. The large, neat tent belonged to Gold and Belle. The small, scruffy set of seven to the dwarfs. She walked silently, but the people around her spoke and laughed loudly. Some of that noise was hushed however, as she moved past them. Emma ignored the stares – she had received them everywhere she went for months now.

"Miss Swan," Regina said, stepping in Emma's path and effectively stopping her in her tracks. Emma took a deep breath, preparing for the snarky comments that would undoubtedly come. Regina seemed to notice everything – especially if it was something that you were not meant to be doing, for example not fighting a battle because you were too busy staring at a man on the enemy side.

"Yes, Regina?"

"Snow is asking for you." And with that, Regina took her leave. It is safe to say, Emma was surprised. She was expecting at the very least a knowing look, however it appeared Regina had not been paying attention today. That was happening a lot more nowadays with the arrival of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, who had wanted to join their cause. Maybe Emma would be the one with the sassy comments soon.

Her mouth almost shifting into a slight smirk, Emma adjusted her path slightly and began to walk again. Her cloak swung around her, skimming the grass she walked over. Underneath, her dress was well worn, as were the boots on her feet. As more tents came into view, she caught sight of Snow standing outside one of them. The other woman smiled softly as she saw Emma, and walked over to meet her halfway.

"Emma." She greeted, giving the blonde woman a warm hug. Despite having been part of the war from the very beginning, Snow had not become any darker than before – in fact, she appeared to just be getting kinder. She did participate in the battles – after all, she was more than accomplished as a fighter – however also spent a lot of time in the infirmary, helping take care of those who were wounded. Perhaps she was trying to make up for everyone else's descent into darkness by becoming lighter, Emma thought briefly.

"Snow." She replied, patting the smaller woman on the back quickly before drawing back. "You wanted to speak to me?"

Snow took a step backwards, and nodded. Looking more serious than before, she replied, "Yes. I did."

There was silence for a couple of seconds, as Snow tried to articulate what she was going to say. Emma looked at her, slight confusion showing on her face.

"You…do not need to be in every battle. I know that you obviously want to, I mean the reason why we are fighting is so close to your heart, but –"

"Snow," Emma interjected, holding her hand out to stop the other woman, "what are you talking about?"

Snow gently took the hand Emma was holding up and placed it between both of hers.

"I saw you today. You weren't fighting. And I want you to know, that you don't have to. You don't have to go into every battle, Emma."

Emma pulled her hand away, shaking her head and taking a step backwards.

"No. Snow, you don't understand. I want to keep fighting. I have to keep fighting."

"Then why weren't you?"

Emma turned away, running her hands through her hair in frustration. She didn't know whether to tell Snow, whether to voice what she had thought she had seen.

"I mean it, Emma, you don't –"

"I saw Killian Jones."

It was Snow who took a step back this time.

"What?" she said quietly, eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.

"You heard me."

Snow swallowed, looking down as she spoke.

"With the crooks?"

"Yes." Emma replied quietly. "From what I could see, one of the best of them."

Snow looked at Emma's face, which was emotionless as she looked back towards where the battle had been fought that day. Though she showed nothing on her face, her eyes were full of…something.

"You last saw him years ago, Emma. We don't know what happened during those years."

Emma looked back at the other woman, turning her head sharply.

"What could have possibly happened that turned him from a respectable man to nothing more than a pirate? He was completely different - a machine, not a man. He even had a metal hand to prove it."

"What do you mean, 'metal hand'?"

Emma sighed, fiddling with the ties of the cloak around her neck.

"He had a hook instead of a hand, Snow. You're right; I don't know what's happened, but I'm honestly pretty sure I don't want to." She paused. "Now, he's just the enemy."

* * *

Killian Jones strode through the camp. All around, crooks and pirates alike drank bad ale and talked, trying to forget just how many more men had been lost today. Another battle, another few hundred lives lost on both sides. Killian had never seen the point of it. But he did see the point of fighting for a cause, and so followed orders and did what he had to. Just like he had done his entire life.

But now his head was spinning, and he had not even had a sip of the disgusting alcohol.

He had seen Emma Swan. Fighting in the battle, against him. True, he would not have expecting anything less than her being straight in the middle of any action, but she had been fighting against him. What had possessed her to fight against the cause he and his comrades were fighting for? Had she gone mad since he last said goodbye to her?

He sat down on a fallen trunk just outside the camp and rubbed his hand along the stubble on his chin. She had looked different. Stronger, definitely, in both the physical and emotional senses. And her magic had evidently got much stronger too since he had last seen her. And darker – it was closer to grey than the pure white it had previously been. Of course, that tended to happen when you fought in a war as long as their two sides had. She looked more serious too, like she had been through a lot even before the war. For all he knew, she had.

It had been so long seen Killian had last seen her, and fighting against her in a war was not where he had thought or hoped they would meet again. She had changed so much, as had he. He wondered whether she had realized it was him, whether she was thinking about him now as he was thinking about her. Then again, he had changed rather a lot more than she had so it was unlikely. Killian looked down at the curved metal that took up the space where his hand used to reside. Indeed, he had changed.

Standing up once more, Killian looked around as another pirate blundered up to him. The other man had already had more than his fair share of drink, and threw his arm around Killian's shoulders, muttering nonsense.

"Had a bit too much have we, mate?" Killian asked the man, quickly grabbing his arm before he slid to the floor.

"Never!" the drunk shouted delightedly, before going unconscious and crumpling to the ground.

Killian sighed as he reached down to pick him up. He had no idea what had happened since he had left, what had made her darker and stronger. But he did know that it didn't matter anymore.

Now, she was just the enemy.


	4. Dance of Friends

**A/N: I am not particularly happy with this chapter, to be perfectly honest, but I felt really bad for leaving it so long to post a new one. I hope you enjoy it anyway!**

* * *

Emma sat in the grass, smiling softly as she finished making a daisy chain. Then she sighed. She would have been climbing in the tall trees that surrounded her (plenty of branches – perfect for climbing), but her mother had caught her earlier in the day and shut that adventure down on the spot. And with the soldiers she could easily spot attempting to hide behind the surrounding bushes, she knew that it would be completely impossible to even try and disobey her.

Standing up, Emma began to walk down the path that lead out of the castle gardens, smirking slightly as she heard the soldiers come out of their hiding spots to follow her.

"Caught you." She said, spinning on the spot to catch the three men her mother had asked to spy on her. They jumped slightly, before shaking their heads in amusement. Though they were several of the Queen's best bodyguards, it was a well-known fact that the young princess was extremely good at noticing those who were hiding from her. And those who were hiding the truth, in fact, so there was no point in denying it either.

Emma's smiled dropped as she said, "Look, you've been following me for at least two hours. How about you go and have a break and I'll meet you back here later?"

The soldiers looked at one another, looks of indecision on their faces. They had been crouching in bushes for several hours, but then again it was the Queen that told them to. Emma saw the looks they gave each other and went in for the clincher.

"I won't tell if you don't. And I hear that the cooks made fresh bread earlier."

Telling her quickly to meet them back in that spot in exactly an hour, the soldiers turned and walked quickly away. Emma watched them, then spun and began to skip in the other direction. Going back towards the trees, she looked around and tilted her head to the side, trying to decide which one to climb. Making her mind up, she walked towards the largest oak tree that stood in the middle of the clearing. She reached up for the first branch and jumped, grabbing it and starting to pull herself up.

"What a little rebel princess."

Emma screamed, letting go of the tree and falling the few metres straight to the ground. The smirk on Neal's face was immediately gone, as he stepped forwards to see if she had hurt herself. The young girl was lying motionless on the floor, making Neal even more nervous that she had sustained some sort of injury. As he kneeled down beside her however, she suddenly jumped up and pushed him over. Standing over his shocked form, she said darkly, "Don't do that ever again."

Neal nodded meekly, then let out a breath as her face cracked into a smile and she laughed.

"I promise, princess."

"Too right." She walked away from him as he began to get up off the floor and he followed her with his eyes. "How's your father?"

Neal sighed, his hand coming up to rub his forehead.

"Not great, I'm afraid. They think he is getting worse."

Emma turned back, locking eyes with him sadly.

"I'm sorry."

Neal nodded, then smiled slightly.

"Well, he'll definitely hang on for at least a year. He told me that he wants to live long enough to see become King."

"Only a year to go until that honour is bestowed, right?"

"Yep. One year and I'll be King of a whole kingdom."

Emma couldn't help but smile when he grinned at her. She didn't really know why, but he was the only one who could always coax a smile out of her, no matter how miserable or annoyed she was. She could never be sad around him. He was her very best friend, and she could not imagine life without him. She kind of hoped she would never have to live a life like that, either.

"I do have to go to a ball with my father next week though."

Neal smirked again, knowing this would get a reaction out of her. Despite all of what her mother thought were un-ladylike tendencies (for example, climbing trees whenever she was bored), Emma wanted to go to a ball so badly. However, she was not yet of the age that this was something she was allowed to do, and this extremely irritated her. As expected, her eyebrows furrowed. Surprisingly, however, she did not take this opportunity to moan. Instead, an extra twinkle came into her eye as she replied, "A ball? A bet you're going to have so much fun standing on and tripping over all the ladies feet, aren't you?"

Though she meant it as a joke, the remark was very true. He was terrible at dancing, though he knew she was excellent.

"Maybe you could give me some extra practice, then?"

Emma's eyes went slightly wider. She was not expecting him to have that kind of answer, she thought he was just going to say the usual – 'I'm not _that _bad' - but apparently not. And never one to back away from a challenge, she stepped forwards and held her hands out.

"Well, come one then!" she remarked when he didn't move quickly enough. Neal reached out, placing one hand on her waist and one on her own hand. She was a lot smaller than him (unsurprisingly – he was 3 years older) but they managed to get into a steady rhythm, moving slowly around the clearing.

It had been 7 years since Neal had found out about his planned marriage to the girl he was dancing with. In those years they had spent a lot of time together, their friendship becoming stronger and stronger. As she got older, he felt that friendship change slightly. He knew that she had a crush on him, even though she did not seem to know for sure herself what that was. He could tell, but he never mentioned it. His plan that he had hatched those 7 years ago was going well, almost exactly as he had envisioned it...except for the part where he had feelings stronger than friendship for her. He saw her as nothing more than a younger sister, despite his knowledge of what they were later to become. Of course, he was 17 and she 14, so she still had to grow and mature. He was sure he would develop those feelings when she became the beautiful young woman she was sure to grow into. But for now they could just continue to play and dance and have fun, as all friends do.


	5. Death of a Believer

**A/N: So this is not what I planned to do, but I haven't updated this story in such a long time and this is all my brain seemed to want to come up with. So this is kind of an extra chapter to explain a few things. Still, I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

_4 years ago_

Henry walked quickly along the dock. It was dark, so dark, and he had to get home. He hadn't meant to stay out so late, but he had lost track of time and he knew both his mothers were going to be equally parts worried sick and incredibly annoyed with him for his irresponsibility. This was why he was taking the shorter, albeit slightly more dangerous route. At this point in the night, sailors ranging from slightly tipsy to falling over themselves drunk overran the docks. However, it was not them he was worried about. It was the pirates.

Pirates often waited further out to sea during the day, waiting for darkness to fall before pulling into the dock in order to get supplies and have a good old drink. Henry had heard many stories of unsuspecting people being snatched right off the wooden planks and taken onto ships sailing the black flag; every one of them ran through his mind as he kept his head down and tried to keep himself from full out sprinting through the crowds. But all the thoughts flying through his brain meant he was not focusing on where he was going, and just before he reached the end of the boathouses he slammed into something. Someone. He glanced up. The man had scars all over his face and bare arms. His clothes were ripped in places, but looked like they had been pretty expensive. A sword hung from a belt tied around his waist. He was a pirate.

"The pirate stared down at him darkly, before throwing his head back and cackling as those around him joined in.

"Did you lot 'ear what 'e called me? Sir!"

Many of the people around had turned to see what the ruckus was about, and several had begun to gather round. Henry took a step back, feeling more and more trapped. No one seemed to notice, instead just laughing harder at the look of fear on his face. The crowd was getting bigger, and jostling each other as drunken man upon drunken man pushed to get a better view. Henry stepped further and further back, eyes desperately shifting around to look for a way out, but before they found one he felt something catch around his ankle. As he looked down at the rope wrapped around his leg the pirate he had bumped into swung around, still laughing. His right arm was stretched out, carrying an almost empty cup, and it smashed into Henry's head, knocking him back. He fell, and fell, and fell, time moving slowly as his vision went out of focus before he slammed into the cold, dark ocean below.

He could barely open his eyes, and when he did the salty water burned them immediately. He sunk slowly down the to ocean floor, the rope still tied around his ankle. He could feel it being pulled up, but his t-shirt was caught on something in the sand, and he scrambled to unhinge it.

At that moment, the rope was pulled sharply and he heard a loud snap through the water, as a piercing wave of pain shot up through his leg. He screamed, bubbles flying about of him mouth. His lungs screamed straight after, desperately needing air that they weren't recieving. He pulled on his t-shirt, but it wasn't working. His vision was dark. His thoughts were fuzzy, his leg numb. He could faintly hear shouting from above, but all he could focus on was the water filling his throat. He gave one last weak tug on his t-shirt before everything went dark.

* * *

The boy had fallen into the water, and several men had immediately surged forwards to try and get him out. He had looked scared, admittedly, but they were just having a laugh. They would pull him out, dry him off and send him on his way, good as new. Except he wasn't coming to the surface. Someone noticed the rope that was trailing into the water, and the end of it was grabbed and passed along to a few people who then pulled. The boy was on the end of it, but he still wasn't coming up for air. He must have been caught on something below. They pulled harder. A slew of bubbles came to the surface. They stopped, waiting for the boy to follow. He didn't.

It had been much too long for him to have been holding his breath. Sobering up, the pirate who had knocked him in dropped his bottle and dived in. After a few seconds, he came back up, a body much smaller than his own in his arms. After being hoisted back up his laid the boy carefully on the wooden planks of the dock and checked for a pulse. As he looked up and shook his head, however, another ruckus began at the back of the crowd.

"Move out of the way." A clear, sharp voice called out. It belonged to a small, black-haired woman who despite her size managed to move the crowd quickly out of her way. Another woman with long, blonde hair followed behind her. They had not yet reached the side of the dock, but her voice was clearly heard by everyone as she coldly asked where her son was. She was in the middle of asking once more when she reached the clearing where the boy was laid.

"Henry!" She cried, dropping down beside him and checking for a pulse. She didn't find one, and neither did the other woman, who had done the same thing. The boy was pale, lying between the two, his hair and clothes saturated and his eyes closed. The blonde remained beside him, his cold hand between both of hers and her tearful eyes fixed on his face, but the dark-haired woman rose slowly, head bowed.

"Who did this?" She growled. Raising her head, she looked around and asked again. Her voice was quiet but everyone silently gathered on the dock heard it easily. The pirate still wet from diving in after the boy raised one hand slowly and opened his mouth to begin to explain the situation but didn't have a chance as she strode up to him and wrenched his heart from his chest.

It beat quickly in her hand as his wide eyes looked upon it before rising to meet hers. The heart beat rapidly, as though it was trying to get as many beats in before what was to happen next. Her face was blank as she slowly crushed it and watched as it crumbled to dust, his lifeless body dropping to the floor.

Before anyone around had even processed the scene before them, yet alone responded, the dark-haired woman lifted her hand once more, twisting it and disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke, bringing the other woman and the poor boy with her.


End file.
